


coming home (maybe)

by drouinmackinnon



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: jo/nate if you squint really hard, more like some sentences tbh, teeny tiny fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:53:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2814329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drouinmackinnon/pseuds/drouinmackinnon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tiny fic where Jo thinks about stuff. Set last season some time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coming home (maybe)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on my phone at 2am so any + all mistake are my own.

It's late and Jo's on the bus taking up two seats, Weegs is asleep behind him. Fucale is across the way, headphones in and book spread over his legs. Jo hasn't paid any attention to who's sat in front of him. Probably Murphs or maybe Falks. Whatever. It doesn't matter. Jo's in that weird headspace between exhausted from the back to back they're returning from and hysteria, trapped somewhere between nowhere and home.

He's staring out of the window, letting the streetlamps wash over him. Watching as the road signs and trees and the clusters of lights from the towns they're passing all blur together, he feels surrounded by it, overwhelmed by it. By how fucking tired he is but how wired he feels, too. Drowsy but so so awake, like he's slept for too long and tried to overcompensate by mainlining coffee. His chest feels full and tight with it, feels blanketed by the safety and familiarity of it. How soon he's going to lose it. This time next year he'll be in the NHL. He'll be playing against Nate, who's somewhere in Colorado right now.

Then it sinks in properly, not like it did in the preseason when he was so close he could feel it in his bones, but now it feels real and solid and tangible and so incredibly scary. He won't be a Moosehead, won't be able to look out of his window at the same grey view he knows so well. He'll have left the drizzle and the snow and the cold and the comfort. He'll also be playing against Nate. Jo scrubs a hand over his face, breathes deep, and closes his eyes. Just lets the chatter of the bus pull him back into the same space of satisfying nothingness. He blinks a few times and fumbles his phone out of his pocket and texts Nate.

'Miss you.'


End file.
